Читать книгу Menace at Mammoth Cave - Mary Casanova - Страница 7

AUNT MILLIE READ the sign aloud: “‘Thatcher Farm.’ This is it!”

The truck slowed as Charlie downshifted and turned at the wooden sign. “Oh, it’s been so many years!” Aunt Millie said as they followed the winding, gravel drive. “I hope Pearl recognizes me.”

Around the last bend, trees gave way to wide fields surrounding a two-story clapboard farmhouse, a red barn on a stone foundation, and several outbuildings. Dozens of sheep grazed a grassy slope. In another field, crops grew thick and green, edged by a row of tall sunflowers, their gold-rimmed brown faces nodding in the afternoon sun. Chickens clucked and pecked outside a chicken coop. A speckled black-and-white rooster picked that very moment to ruffle his feathers, tilt back his red crown, and crow. Roo-roo-a-roooooooo!

“Hello to you, too!” Kit replied.

As they pulled up to the large farmhouse, a plump woman with two white braids dashed onto the front porch. Her apron fluttered over a lavender sundress. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, as if to hold down a runaway smile. “Millie!” she called, her arms wide and ready. “God sent you on wings!”

Aunt Millie jumped out of the passenger door and met her friend in a hug. “Oh, Pearl! You haven’t changed a bit!”

“And you must be Kit and Charlie. I’m Miss Pearl,” she said, adding, “Charlie, you’ll stay for dinner.”

“Is that an order, ma’am?” Charlie grinned.

“Sure is,” Miss Pearl said, hands on her hips.

“I’ll never turn down a home-cooked meal.” Charlie gave Kit a wink, then grabbed the luggage and headed onto the porch steps.

“Now, I must tell y’all,” Miss Pearl said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she opened the front door. “Gran-mammy—my husband Jesse’s mother—took to bed some days ago. We’ve set her up downstairs in the sewing room, where it’s easier to care for her.”

They stepped in. A banister staircase loomed in the entry. From the right came the tick-ticking of a clock and a bright shaft of afternoon sunlight. “The living room,” Miss Pearl said. Through the open door, Kit spotted a stone hearth, and a spinning wheel beside it. On either side of a velvet sofa, side tables held a violin and dulcimer, waiting to be played. Then Miss Pearl turned and motioned to the smaller, darker room to Kit’s left, where soft, rhythmic snoring rose from beneath a mounded pink quilt.

Miss Pearl whispered, “I hope y’all won’t mind sharing Gran-mammy’s double bed upstairs.”

“Not at all,” Aunt Millie said. “And she can have her bed back the moment she starts feeling better.”

Miss Pearl folded her hands together and brought them under her chin. “Yes, let’s hope. Bless your heart.”

…

Later, Kit sat with Aunt Millie and Miss Pearl on the front porch. Miss Pearl told them that, of her seven children, only two now remained at home. “JJ’s out working with the menfolk—you’ll meet him at supper. That there’s our Dorothy Ann,” she said, waving toward a figure in the pasture who was riding a mule bareback near a flock of white sheep. “She just turned sixteen. I swear, if she had her way, she’d have been born a lamb. She loves those sheep.”

Dorothy Ann waved back, dark curls draping her shoulders.

Before long, a horse-drawn wagon pulled into the driveway. “That’ll be the men. Now we can eat,” Miss Pearl said with relief.

Everyone gathered in the dining room, which was wallpapered with tiny blue flowers on a white background. Kit’s stomach rumbled with hunger. The table brimmed with smoked ham, creamed peas, corn biscuits, and sliced cucumbers and tomatoes.

Kit sat across from Dorothy Ann, who glanced up with a shy smile. Next to Dorothy Ann sat her brother JJ, a good-looking seventeen-year-old whose auburn hair dipped toward one eye.

Mr. Thatcher, Miss Pearl’s husband, a short, wiry man, finished a prayer of thanks, and everyone began passing plates. Charlie handed a plate of ham steaks to JJ, who stabbed a slice with the serving fork.

When a man with rusty-looking teeth and thinning gray hair stepped in from the kitchen, Miss Pearl introduced him. “This is our guest, Mr. Henry.”

“Pleased to meet you. Sorry I’m late, ma’am,” he said to Miss Pearl as he took the empty chair.

“And where do you live, Mr. Henry?” Aunt Millie asked.

“Lost my place a year ago,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Home’s at the next place yonder that’ll have me. In return for food and lodging, I make baskets—the finest white oak baskets around—and repair broken seats on cane chairs. I stay with folks for a bit, then move on before I turn moldy.”

Kit studied Mr. Henry. Back in Cincinnati, she’d met boys and men who’d lost their jobs and homes during the Depression. She’d also brought food to some of the women and children living in the makeshift hobo camps below the railroad bridge. But unlike the hobos, who hopped on trains and traveled from town to town in search of work, Mr. Henry seemed content to stay in the area and take what work he could find.

“We’re honored to have you.” Mr. Thatcher nodded at Mr. Henry. “Got to count our blessings. We haven’t felt the boot of the Depression like some folks. Here, with our orchard, cows, pigs, chickens, and plenty of canned goods—thanks to Pearl—we’re never hungry.”

“Our farm’s a little pocket of heaven,” Miss Pearl added, tears suddenly filling her eyes. “Or it was, until the letter came.” She pressed her napkin to her lips.

“Letter?” Aunt Millie asked.

Kit’s ears perked up. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Charlie’s gaze drop to his plate. He let out a soft breath.

“The letter. Arrived a week and a half ago.” Miss Pearl held her shoulders back, but her voice wavered. “We’ve known since we sold the farm last year that we’d have to leave one day. But the letter from the park service was our final notice. It said we had twenty-one days to leave our property. This time it’s an order.”

“And go where?” Kit blurted.

Aunt Millie gave Kit’s hand a squeeze, as if to say leave this to the adults.

Mr. Thatcher pushed back from the table. “I’m lookin’ for a place here in Hart County, outside park boundaries. If I can find one. They’ve paid us fairly enough for our property, but money’s no good if it can’t replace what we’re losing.” Then he stepped out the kitchen door and was gone.

“My Jesse hasn’t been taking it well,” Miss Pearl said. “He’s taken to walking nights when he should be sleeping. This farm has been in his family for generations. It’s all he’s ever known.”

JJ spoke up. “Pappy’s been knocking on every door beyond the park. It’s not easy finding something close by when so many families are in the same bind.”

“Oh, Pearl,” Aunt Millie said, rising from the table and placing her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “We came at the very worst time. We’ll turn around and leave first thing in the morning. I’m just as sorry as an empty stringer of fish!”

“Millie,” Miss Pearl said, standing and facing Aunt Millie, “I’ve known about the farm since before we invited you. I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t come down.”

Kit couldn’t hold herself back. “We leave here on the twenty-eighth of August. So that means you have to leave your farm the very next day?”

Miss Pearl nodded.

Aunt Millie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Pearl, we don’t want to be a bother.”

“Don’t you dare turn tail, Millie. I couldn’t wait to see you, and now that you’re here, you simply can’t up and leave. Y’hear?” She bowed her head, paused, and looked up again. “Besides, I pretended this day would never come. But now…I truly must start packing. I could use your help, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind?” Aunt Millie said, as if waving away a pesky mosquito. “That’s what friends are for!”

Dorothy Ann peered up from under her dark bangs. “On top of everything, Gran-mammy is ninety-three years old, y’all, and feeling poorly.”

“Speaking of Gran-mammy,” Miss Pearl said, “I’ll see if she’s ready for some dinner.”

Dorothy Ann jumped up from her chair. “I’ll go.” She filled a plate with food, then headed toward the sewing room.

“That girl loves her gran-mammy,” Miss Pearl said softly. “I love to sew like Gran-mammy, but those two are peas in a pod. Gran-mammy taught Dorothy Ann everything she knows about tending sheep, carding and dyeing wool, and spinning.”

“I have experience helping elderly folks,” Kit said. Back in Cincinnati, she’d helped Miss Mundis, her Uncle Hendrick’s next-door neighbor, when she fell and needed extra care. And she continued to help Uncle Hendrick at his big house, even though he was the grumpiest person in the whole world. “I’m happy to help with Gran-mammy if I can.”

“Thank you, Kit,” Miss Pearl said with a warm glance. “We appreciate that kindly.” She exhaled deeply before going on. “Right now I think the best medicine for us is some music. JJ, before Charlie returns to Maple Springs, will you play us a few tunes?”

JJ turned to his mother with a nod. “Yes, ma’am.” But as he stood, eyes gray as storm clouds, he shot Charlie a glance.

Kit recognized that look. It was the same one she’d seen earlier in the day when she’d waved to people from the truck. No one had waved back. Their faces were grim, like tombstones etched with two words: Go away!

Kit speared the last bit of ham on her plate and chewed it without tasting it. She couldn’t blame JJ or anyone else for not wanting to leave their home. But it wasn’t Charlie’s fault that this area had been chosen for a national park. No matter how angry people might be, it wasn’t right to take out their feelings on the CCC workers, especially not on someone as good-hearted and hardworking as her brother!

…

While Aunt Millie and Miss Pearl washed the dishes, Kit carried a cup of chamomile tea to the sewing room for Gran-mammy.

“Oh, thank you,” Dorothy Ann said, rising from the chair beside the twin bed. “Gran-mammy, we have a visitor, Kit Kittredge. She’s the niece of Mammy’s old friend Mildred. They’re visiting for a spell. Look, Kit brought you a cup of tea.”

Gran-mammy’s pale green eyes were surrounded by dark circles. “Well, aren’t you a dear,” she said. “Where did you come from?”

“Cincinnati,” Kit said, quickly adding, “ma’am.”

“Here, Gran-mammy. Let me help you sit up,” Dorothy Ann said, scooting an extra pillow behind her grandmother.

From the living room came bright, rapid fiddling. “That’s my grandson JJ,” Gran-mammy said. “Comes from a long line of fiddlers, y’know.”

Kit nodded politely.

“He’s awful good with that fiddle. Just like Dorothy Ann with the wheel. She spins fleece into the loveliest yarn you ever did see.”

Dorothy Ann’s fair cheeks reddened. “I’m still learning,” she admitted. She lifted the cup of tea to her grandmother’s dry lips. “Here, Gran-mammy. Try a little? You need to get your strength back.”

But Gran-mammy snorted and shooed the cup away. She pushed back white strands of hair on her nearly bald head. “Just leave it. Now you girls skedaddle. I’m fine.”

Dorothy Ann set the cup down on the side table. “All right. Dinner?”

“No, thanks,” Gran-mammy said. “Maybe later.” Her thin eyelids closed.

Kit followed Dorothy Ann across the foyer and toward the lively music in the living room. Just before entering, Dorothy Ann leaned into Kit. “Leaving here is hardest on Gran-mammy,” she whispered. “She took to bed the day the letter arrived. She’s been getting weaker ever since. Breaks my heart.”

Kit whispered back, “I’m so sorry.” It was all she could think to say.

In the living room, Dorothy Ann sat at her spinning wheel and pumped the treadle until it began to spin. Kit perched on a footstool and watched as Dorothy Ann took a fluff of wool from a basket and stretched and twisted it into a strand of yarn on the wheel. Kit had never thought before about where yarn came from. Wool from sheep turned into yarn…yarn knitted into sweaters, hats, gloves, mittens, and scarves. Kit tried to picture Gran-mammy as a young girl spinning yarn. Now her granddaughter carried on her tradition.

Kit glanced at Charlie and shared a smile. Sitting on the sofa, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, clearly enjoying JJ’s music.

Commanding everyone’s attention, JJ stood fiddling beside the stone hearth, tapping out a beat with the toe of his boot. His sour mood seemed gone. With his instrument tucked under his chin, he moved his left hand up and down the frets as his right hand held the bow, flying over the strings. He played song after song, the music growing louder and faster until, with a flourish of his bow, he stopped.

Mr. Henry started clapping and everyone joined in. JJ bowed to his audience, his bow and fiddle extending like wings behind him.

After a moment, Charlie stood. “I guess I’d better be going so I return Joe’s truck on time.” He thanked the Thatchers for their hospitality and headed for the front door.

“Will I see you soon?” Kit asked.

“You can count on it,” Charlie assured her.

When bedtime came, Kit was grateful to put on her familiar nightgown. She was more tired than she realized. What a long day it had been! She settled her head on the pillow beside Aunt Millie, who dropped quickly into sleep.

Kit lay awake, eyes open. A crescent moon rose and sent pale light into the bedroom. Kit suddenly missed Mother and Dad; her best friend, Ruthie; and her sweet dog, Grace, who often slept at the foot of Kit’s bed. When Grace pressed her warm body against Kit’s feet, sleep always came easily.

Time suddenly stretched like the long, endless steel rails she and Aunt Millie had traveled. Nine more days until they headed home? She swallowed hard, determined not to cry.

Her feelings didn’t make any sense. She’d been so excited about this trip, about seeing Charlie, and the possibility of visiting a real cave. She loved spending time with Aunt Millie, and it had all sounded like such an adventure. But now Kit felt as if she didn’t belong. She felt caught between two worlds: the one her brother was here to help build and the one—full of family farms like the Thatchers’—that was destined to be torn down.

She wished there was some way the Thatchers could stay on their farm.

Kit drew a deep, long breath. Then, like a quickly deflating balloon, she exhaled a sigh of worry. Things felt complicated—and yet they were simple: Families were being forced to make way for a national park. People were deeply upset. And Charlie was in danger, because whoever put a snake in his trunk and started a fire was still out there, ready to strike again.